


safe mistake

by virtuosity



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, Consensual Infidelity, F/M, Future Fic, Infidelity, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 09:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtuosity/pseuds/virtuosity
Summary: It starts innocently enough.





	safe mistake

It starts innocently enough. 

He texts her one night - all jokey smiles and warmth and _‘Miss you Virtch!’ _and it feels like a strange kind of warmth, not unlike the feeling of fresh laundry out of the dryer. 

Once their retirement had finally been confirmed and they’d stopped touring, their interactions had dwindled. The intent was there, but over time the follow-through became less so. They had their own (separate) lives now, despite the fact that history would forever see them as partners, two halves of one whole, frozen with their hands clasped and medals around their necks. They were busy. They met for quick lunches here and there, stopped in at Christmas or Thanksgiving when they were both home, once in awhile they found time to have dinner, but over time meetups became phone calls became voicemails became nothing. He’d met Sam. Then she’d met Luke. And he’d left Sam. And she’d said yes to Luke. 

It wasn’t what people imagined; there was no pining, no deep regret. They weren’t caught in some epic story that ‘spanned years and continents, lives ruined, bloodshed’ - she’d seen something described that way on tv once and it had become their inside joke for what they had dubbed the ‘Narrative’ - the public perception of who they were and what they felt. 

It wasn’t epic. There had been occasional tears, hurt feelings, some kisses, some groping, maybe a heartbreak mixed in somewhere, but in the end it wasn’t a tragic loss - it was an itch that hadn’t been scratched. 

She grins at her phone, a thrill running through her that feels like being sixteen again. It fades quickly as Luke rolls into her, dropping his head to her shoulder and playfully telling her that _ he _ isn’t thirsty, but if for some reason _ she _ is, he’ll be more than happy to share some water with her. She laughs, nudging him with her elbow, and tells him that she’s not thirsty at _ all _ so she’s perfectly happy where she is. 

And she is happy. Truly happy. It’s not a facade to cover up her real pain, he’s not a substitute for what she can’t have, Luke is everything she wants. She loves him in a way she has never loved anyone in her life, and the thought of losing him fills her with a dread she didn’t know she could feel. It’s not like some majestic fairy tale, it’s real. They love each other, but they also make each other crazy (if he leaves his credit card - or drivers license or health card - just floating around loosely rather in his wallet one more time she’s going to scream). They fight and they cook and they’re lazy and they hike and it’s real. 

He’s it. 

So she answers Scott the next day. She tells him she misses him too - which she does - and that’s that. Except it isn’t because he texts her back and he makes her laugh and they fall into what rapidly becomes a daily conversation. It’s like they’re getting to know these new versions of each other, uncovering what they look like now. 

She gets pictures of his house and his new haircut and (her favorite) his fancy new flannel pajamas with the deer on them. He gets pictures of her view and her office and her cats.

* * *

_ Whoa, whoa, whoa. Cat? I thought that was a joke. _

_ It’s ‘cats.’ Plural. They are real and they are perfect. _

_ Oh god, you’re one of those people now. _

_Listen, it’s not my fault that we managed to find the best cats in the world._   
_  
Right. Got it. You’re one of those people now. _

_ They’re gold medal cats, Scott. They come by it honestly. _

_ Technically, they’re only partially gold medal cats. I have not given of myself for them. _

_ You will. _

_ Doubt it. _

_ I don’t. You’re a pushover for big eyes and good hugs. _

_ Oh god, they hug? _

* * *

Luke knows that they’re talking regularly again. There’s no reason for her to hide it. Occasionally he even takes her phone and responds to Scott himself, giving shit as good as he takes it. There’s even one memorable occasion when she sends Scott video clips of she and Luke laughing hysterically in bed as he tries to convince her that Scott is saying Saskatchewan wrong. They get along, which surprises some people, but not her. It makes perfect sense to her.

* * *

_You cannot tell him that. _

_ Let me feel my feelings, T. _

_ Seriously, if you hope to be invited to the wedding you have got to stop bashing the Canucks. _

_ But it’s so easy to do! _

_ S t o p. _

* * *

Before either of them notices, their banter transforms into something more like flirting. There are echoes of them in their late teens and mid-twenties, something comfortable but also thrilling. He teases her about how she’s smart _ and _ funny _ and _cute and how it’s unfair, and she reminds him of the time he had provided comfort against her fear of thunderstorms by pulling her into his lap and kissing her deeply. 

It’s fun. And it makes her feel good. It awakens some part of her that she didn’t realize had been asleep. 

* * *

_ You’re a catch there, Virtch. _

_ You know, you keep saying that but you could have caught me if you’d wanted me. _

* * *

It’s not because they’re unhappy, that’s what she can’t make sense of. And regardless of what else is happening, that’s still true. She’s happier than she ever thought she could be. She has a partner who makes her laugh and keeps her safe, someone whose mere proximity calms her down and riles her up all at the same time, and they’ve built a home for themselves in Toronto; they’re a family and they’re getting married. And she wants that, that hasn’t changed at all. 

She knows that Scott is single, but she also knows that he’s not sad about it. He’s made a career for himself and finally finished the house, and while it isn’t quite what he imagined his life to be, he’s happy. She can tell when isn’t being genuine and he really means it when he tells her that things are good. One night they delve, just a little, into what happened with Sam. He tells it bluntly and without self-pity; she hadn’t loved him the way he loved her and everyone, including him, knew it. He says he had just been so in love with her that it didn’t matter - until it did. So one day he’d walked in and told her that it needed to end, she’d told him to get out, and that was it. The thing that breaks her heart the most is that the first thing his mom said after it happened was that she was proud of him. 

It makes her sad in a way that she can’t quite comprehend. She knows that it’s because she cares about him and she hates the thought of him being in any kind of pain, but there’s a tinge of something else. It feels strangely like jealousy. The thought that he’d loved someone else that much leaves her unsettled. She brushes it off as the remnants of some part of the narrative that had long since burrowed into her subconscious.

* * *

One night she finds herself awake after Luke has fallen asleep, mindlessly scrolling through Twitter and Instagram. She really shouldn’t have had that second mocha, but it had sounded like a good idea at the time. She knows that Luke would want her to wake him so that, if nothing else, he could keep her company in her insomnia, but he looks so peaceful and is making that small half-snore nose whistle that she sometimes finds cute rather than irritating and so she lets him sleep. 

Somewhere around 12:30 she shares a picture Jordan posted from when they were kids to her stories and a message from Scott pops up. 

_ Why are you still up? _

She smiles. _ Why are you? _

_ I asked you first. Wait let me guess - you can’t control your coffee addiction. _

She laughs quietly, putting her hand across her mouth and turning to make sure that she hadn’t woken Luke. _ You know me so well. _

_ I do. _

_ So why are you still up? _

_ Apparently I don’t sleep anymore. _

_ Yeah, I think you might want to have that looked at. _

They fall into an easy conversation, bouncing between stories from what Scott likes to call ‘back in the day’ and current updates to their lives such as the ever-changing dynamics of Tessa and Luke’s Thursday night trivia team and how Scott has found himself agreeing to work overnight shifts at the rink in Ilderton every three months. He tells her it’s because he’s Batman, but she’s pretty sure that it’s really because he lost a bet with Charlie. 

At some point - she thinks vaguely it must be nearing three - the conversation shifts to the fact that they had managed never to sleep together. That’s when she says the one thing that changes everything that comes after it. 

_ You know, I totally would have. _

His answer comes quickly. _ Wait. What??? _

_How is that a surprise? _  
_  
What do you mean how is that a surprise? You were the one putting on the brakes._

_ I was not! It was you! _

_ No, it wasn’t! _

She knows that if she could see him now in his surprisingly well-decorated bedroom in Ilderton he would look full to the brim with surprise and righteous indignation. 

_ Yes, you were! Whenever we did...stuff, I was following your lead. _

_ I was following yours! _

For a moment, neither responds. Then he follows up with -

_ Well. Shit. That’s a missed opportunity if I’ve ever heard one. _

_ No kidding. _

After that they go down a rabbit hole of all of the times they could have had sex but didn’t. Times that, as it turns out, they both really wanted to and didn’t out of respect for one another. There was the time on his parents couch and the time she visited his first apartment without a roommate. The list goes on.

Their conversation ends sometime around dawn with what is to become their refrain:

_ If only. _

_ If only is right. _

* * *

_ Scott. _

_ Yes, T? _

_ You’re the only person in the entire world that will understand why I’m so uncomfortable right now. _

_ What’s up?? _

_ Did you see that Paul Alexander died? _

_ Ah yes. Did you not make out in his guest room with anyone else? _

_ You think you’re so funny. _

_ So do you. _

* * *

She starts imagining it. Her body remembers what it felt like in those moments of _ almost _ and now her mind is adding to it. Where before she’d felt some sort of obligation to him or them to keep herself from crossing that line, even mentally, she can now let it run free and think of all the things they could have done. 

Turns out, so does he. 

There’s a night - a Wednesday of all days - she goes out for a celebratory birthday dinner for one of her friends and takes full advantage of the half-priced bottles of wine and he goes to a bar and watches the game with his friends, which of course turns into a party when the Leafs win, and two a.m. finds her curled up on the couch in the dark, her face lit only by the screen in her hands as they move beyond regret that they didn’t sleep together into what they would have done if they had.

She finds herself worked up as they talk, tendrils of something heavy and intoxicating twisting themselves into her ribs, a suppressed heat finding its way into her blood. 

That’s the first time she touches herself. 

He’s gone silent and seems to have given in to sleep, but her body is too wound up to return to bed. She just needs to release the tension. She thinks of Luke, but it doesn’t work - it isn’t his tension that needs to be released. She gives in, her mind falling back to being 24 and trying to force herself to walk out of his apartment, nails digging into her palms to control herself, only this time she doesn’t leave, this time she pushes him down onto the couch and slides in to his lap to ride him to completion. 

She bites her lip to keep quiet as her orgasm hits and then falls limply to the couch. The guilt seeps in with each panting breath. She can’t believe she just did that. Luke is in the room behind her, sleeping soundly. Hurriedly, she pushes to her feet and makes her way to the bathroom, washing her hands in water as hot as she can stand and cleans herself up. 

All she wants is to slide into bed and mould herself to Luke’s back and let the nearness of him calm her anxiety and ease her into sleep, but she can’t. Not after that. She turns her back to him and curls in on herself, her feet rubbing together nervously. Eventually she falls into an erratic, sweaty sleep, and dreams in unsettling flashes of things she can’t understand. 

The next morning she wakes to Luke nudging her softly. “If you wake up now, I’ll get you Starbucks.”

She opens her eyes immediately and he laughs. The tension around her heart eases. He’s still here. Nothing else needs to happen, and _ god _ she loves this man. That hasn’t changed at all. It was a slip-up - and not even a current one - her thoughts had drifted to the past not the present. It’s okay. 

She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him softly. 

He pulls back and playfully nips at her nose. “I’m going to shower and by the time I’m done you will be up or you’ll lose your Starbucks privileges.” 

She smiles. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“That’s true,” he says, sliding off the bed. “But I can pout. And from what you’ve told me it’s very effective.” 

She laughs and calls after him as he makes his way to the bathroom. “No fair!”

Everything’s fine. Totally fine.

Except - Scott lets it slip the next day that he didn’t fall asleep. He had needed to relieve tension of his own and hadn’t known what to say when it was done. 

_ I feel like I violated something. _

_ You didn’t. _

_ I did. You, or us, you and Luke... _

_ You didn’t violate me, Scott. You could never. It’s okay. We’re both okay. Everything is fine. _

* * *

After that morning, they pretend that it didn’t happen and continue their harmless, friendly conversations about funny things that happened to them that day or their families, Tessa’s cats, Scott’s skaters, all of it. Anything but _ that. _

As time passes, she’s able to let go of it. (Mostly.) She and Luke find their wedding venue, they order the invitations, all is good. 

Until the next time she gets drunk. It’s not intentional, it’s just a night out. The only problem is he’s drunk again too. 

They end up down the ‘what if’ rabbit hole again, only this time they keep talking - she ends up with one hand holding the phone, trying to type what she’s imagining they would have done, the other moving beneath the blanket on her lap. She can tell by the way his typing goes off just slightly that he’s doing the same thing. 

She doesn’t tell him what she’s doing. 

Not this time.

* * *

_ That time in the guest room was the first time I had an orgasm that I didn’t give myself. _

_ Hold up, really? I didn’t even take off your pants! _

_ Yep. _

_ I could have been carrying this honor around for my entire life? _

_ You achieved a few other pretty cool things, you know. _

_ Yeah, yeah, yeah, gold medals are one thing, but I think I should put this on my CV. _

_ Please don’t. _

_ You don’t think people would consider that a feat? _

_ No. _

_ But it would be so good for the Narrative!! _

_ NO. _

* * *

The next time happens a week later. She’s been drinking but she’s not drunk, yet she still takes it as an excuse to respond to him when he texts her late that night. It’s become something like an addiction. She wants to stop, but then it starts and she can’t seem to control herself.   
  
The most confusing part is that it isn’t affecting her relationship with Luke. She carries a weight in her stomach that means she’s being dishonest, but this isn’t the result of her being unhappy or unsatisfied, and despite the level of denial she’s in, she knows that that part is true. She can’t explain it, but these feelings she’s having towards Scott (and she’s quick to reassure herself that they are purely sexual - not in any way emotional) aren’t taking anything away from her feelings for Luke. They’re separate. At no point does her mind even try and substitute Scott’s hands or mouth or body for Luke’s when she’s with him, never wishes or thinks of anyone but him. When she’s with Luke, she’s completely with Luke. 

But, as it turns out, beyond the guilt she carries with her in the aftermath, when she’s doing this - whatever this is - with Scott, she’s completely with Scott.

* * *

Oddly, the night that turns the past into the present is a night where Scott falls asleep early. Luke has gone to Montreal for a meeting, and as the night crawls on, the absence of him allows a strange kind of desperation for Scott to grow. She opens a bottle of wine, pretending it’s to relax and will help her sleep and is not an excuse for her actions. 

She texts him, and he responds, warning her that he’s had an exhausting day, so that if he disappears not to take it personally. 

He falls asleep ten minutes later, likely with his phone his hand (it’s not the first time), leaving her antsy and wanting. The minutes tick by, her mind spinning with wine and lust, and she finds herself lightly stroking the skin of her stomach, scratching over her piercing lightly. Scott did always seem to like the piercing. Tension builds as she runs her hands teasingly across her chest and along her neck. She closes her eyes and they’re no longer her hands, they’re Scott’s. Her hips have already begun to rock slightly, her heart rate rising, and suddenly her fantasy shifts - it’s not 27 year old Scott in her living room in Montreal, it’s present day Scott in his bedroom in Ilderton. She imagines waking him with her hands on his chest and her mouth on his neck, and moans out loud. Quickly, she dissolves into a needy mess, one hand in her underwear, the other scrabbling to find something hold onto. She feels her phone against her palm and forms a terrible but deeply arousing thought. Before she can think twice, she’s opened the app and hit record, her whimpers and moans unfurling quicker and louder knowing that he will be able to hear them. She imagines him between her legs, slamming into her quickly, his eyes dark and wanting, and she comes, shamelessly loud. 

As her body goes limp, her thumb slips from the audio button and the message sends before her lust-clouded mind clears enough for her to rethink her decision. Exhaustion and alcohol drag her quickly into sleep, and the message remains, sent and delivered, unopened, waiting for Scott. 

The next day she wakes slowly, smiling as she feels the ache of satisfaction in her muscles, but as the events of the night before rush in, she sits up, her hands already searching for her phone. 

The message was opened. 

And he’d responded, simply- 

_ Fuck. _

Shame creeps up her spine, and her stomach twists tightly into knots. 

_ I’m so sorry _is all she manages to get out before she bolts for the bathroom, collapsing to her knees in front of the toilet and retching, trying to rid herself of both wine and regret. 

Eventually, she crumples to the bathroom floor, her throat raw and chest aching. 

Her phone vibrates next to her and she squeezes her eyes closed. 

It vibrates again. 

And again. 

Finally, she reaches out and brings it up to her face, swiping to unlock it. 

Three messages this time - 

_ Please don’t be _

_ You have no idea _

_ Tess I came so hard _

“Fuck,” she says out loud, dropping the phone to her chest and covering her eyes as she feels arousal spark in her at his words, mixing uncomfortably with the guilt and embarrassment already swirling through her. 

She knows that this needs to end right here right now.

But in the next breath, her mind rejects the thought. The need overtakes her and she swallows hard. 

She’s not ending anything and she knows it.

* * *

_ Do you think we would want this so badly if we had just done it then? _

_ I don’t know. Maybe. Or we might want it more. _

* * *

She just wants one night. Just one. So she can get it out of her system. It’s like there’s a beast that’s taken hold of her, somewhere between her mind and her body that won’t let her let this go. She just wants to know what it’s like - wants to know how it would feel to have his head between her legs, his hands holding her thighs wide, spreading her open for him. She wants to know what he would feel like inside of her - she had felt him against her, even rutted against him hard and solid between her legs until she came, but she doesn’t know the specific ways he would stretch her, doesn’t know how deeply he could fuck her, doesn’t know how it would feel when he came inside of her. 

She loves Luke. She doesn’t want to lose him. He’s all she wants for the rest of her life. 

She doesn’t want Scott for the rest of her life. She wants him for one night.

* * *

_ I’m afraid to see you. _

_ Why? _

_ I don’t know what’s going to happen. _

* * *

It’s not long before pictures become a part of whatever the hell it is that they’re doing. 

What used to be pictures of his fancy flannel pajamas turn into pictures of him in his tight, white briefs. 

_(Excuse me, when did boxers become briefs? _

_ We all have to grow up sometime, Tess. _

_ I'm telling Ellen that I was right. _

_ Well that would be weird, but I know how much you like being right, so you do what you have to do.) _

What before had been pictures of her feet while she watches become pictures of her hips, her shorts pulled down just enough to keep her covered but more than enough to tease. She sends pictures of herself fresh out of the shower, still dripping with water, a towel strategically placed to hide whatever small piece of herself is still off limits to him. 

Her reaction to the pictures he sends surprises her. All she wants is drop to her knees and take him in her mouth, working him until she can swallow everything he gives her. She’d never had a problem with giving head, and is always more than happy to do it with Luke, but she finds herself needy in a way that she’s never been before. She wants his hands in her hair and his cock in her throat and she hates herself for it but her mouth nearly waters.

It’s not long before they’re desperate for each other. 

He tells her what he wants to do to her in excruciating detail and with a vigor that makes her dizzy. He sends her audio clips that leave her shaking with want - the sound of his nicknames for her flowing off of his tongue when she knows what he’s doing and thinking is nearly her undoing. 

She sends him pictures of her up on the bathroom counter of a nice restaurant, hand under her dress, and videos of herself in bed, fingers moving beneath the fabric of her underwear. She finds herself fascinated by the idea of him coming inside of her - without a condom - just so she could feel it and know what it would feel like dripping back out. 

She wants to be filthy with him in a way that she has never wanted to be with anyone before. 

What she doesn’t acknowledge is the depth of emotion that comes with that. 

If she keeps insisting it’s purely physical then she can outrun it.

* * *

_ Tell me what you want. _

_ I want to fuck you. _

_ Tell me how. _

_ In the bathroom at a party, hard and fast, trying to be quiet, all panting hot breaths and catching your moans wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. _

_ Fuck. _

_ What do you want? _

_ I want you to fuck me. _

_ Tell me how. _

_ Just like that. _

_ Yeah? _

_ Yeah. My dress up around my hips, underwear pushed to the side, your pants open just enough, your belt clanking against the counter. _

_ I don’t wear belts. _

_ Start. _

* * *

At some point if becomes when. Except the next time they’re set to see each other she is supposed to be getting married. 

She doesn’t know when they became these people, but she’s aware enough of herself and of them to know that as much as they want to let this go and move on with their lives they can’t. 

So she tells Luke. 

And he does the worst possible thing he could do - he understands. 

She cries, he holds her. She begs for forgiveness, he tells her she doesn’t need it. She tells him that he should hate her, he tells her that he never could. 

She pleads with him to know that she loves him, wants to marry him, wants to spend the rest of her life with him. 

He tells her he has never doubted it. 

And then he gives her permission.

* * *

_ I have a question. _

_ What’s up? _

_ If we could do this. Really do this. One night. Would you? _

_ What about Luke? _

_ What if he knew? _

He doesn’t answer. Minutes pass. She feels ill. 

_ You can say no, Scott. Please don’t freak out. _

_ I’m not freaking out because I want to say no, Tessa. _

* * *

Then there’s a plan, an actual real life plan, plane tickets and hotel rooms are booked and every night before she falls asleep she runs through the possibilities in her mind. What she will do when she sees him, what he’ll do when he sees her, how it will feel, how he will look and taste. 

Impossibly, Luke is looking forward to it. Well. That might not be the way to describe it, but they talked about it (they’ve been doing a lot of talking) and he doesn’t want to know, not what they do or what they say or how it feels, just that they’re safe and she’s all right, but he knows that she needs this and he wants it for her. He insists that it’s necessary. 

She doesn’t understand it. But she trusts him. She has to. 

The night before Scott is set to get to Toronto she curls into Luke’s lap and holds him close, taking comfort in the smell of him and the feel of his skin against hers. 

“Will you still be here when I come home?” she whispers. 

He tightens his arms around her. “I will.” 

“Are you _ sure__?_” she asks for what must be the hundredth time and he chuckles softly.

“I am.”

“Explain it to me again.”

He sighs and just says, “I love you.”  
  
“Exactly,” she murmurs, pulling herself closer to him. 

“I see you’re going koala tonight,” he says as she burrows into his neck. She smiles in spite of herself - that’s what he calls it when she gets especially clingy. 

“Yes,” she replies stubbornly. 

“Tess, I just…” he trails off. 

“What?” she asks. 

“I’m not going to be another person you’ve lost because of your relationship with Scott.”

She goes still. 

“I don’t want to be with him, I told you-”

“I know you don’t. But part of being with you is understanding you and him, and this is part of that.” 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she just lets herself relax, allowing him to hold her up. It occurs to her that there’s only one other man she trusts to do that and not let her fall, and wonders if maybe there is something to what he’s saying after all. 

“It needs to happen, Tess. And I’ll be here when it’s over.” 

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“What?” 

“That it needs to happen.”

“Because it does.”

She sighs. “That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, it is.”

* * *

He’s waiting for her in their room. 

She can’t get out of the car. 

Her stomach roils with an unsettling mixture of anticipation, guilt, arousal, and fear that she just doesn’t know how to handle. She wants, god she _ wants _, she can feel the wetness between her legs, knows she’s been so fucking ready, slippery wet, since the moment she woke up, but she can’t quite seem to stand up. 

Her body chooses that moment to make the decision easier for her as it unleashes a wave of yearning - not for sex, but a hug; one that will regulate her breathing, settle her nerves, slow her pulse, and clear her mind. She squares her shoulders and steps out of the car. She can have that, she just needs to get upstairs.

* * *

She pushes the key card into the lock before she has a chance to change her mind and then he’s there in front of her and she’s struck by just how long it’s been since she’s seen him in person. Her body reacts to the proximity of him, with heat and craving yes, but also with a buzz that feels a lot like some part of her musculature just woke up from a deep sleep. 

She’d spent the days and nights leading up to this moment wondering if he would be just as nervous, wondering if they would even be able to talk or relate the same way now that this was happening between them. She wanted this, but she still wasn’t sure they could be them and do this at the same time. 

But as he turns at the sound of her making her way into the room, he has a fucking water bottle cap in his mouth, chewing on it just as anxiously and obnoxiously as he ever did, and she feels her eyes roll and a smile stretch across her face before she even has a chance to think about it. 

She shuts the door behind her. 

“Oh come _ on__,_” she says.

He grins at the sight of her and drops the bottle to the bed. “Hi.”

“You know why we’re here right?”

“Mmm, I think so,” he replies, stepping toward her. 

“Then what made you think doing the least sexy thing in the world would be a good idea right when I arrive?”

He grabs her waist, wraps himself around her, and says, “I figured that if anyone would want to fuck me after that it would be you.”

She clutches him to her tightly, one hand instinctively sliding up to run her nails across the back of his neck and feels him shiver. She feels her body clench needily around nothing, reminding her of just how badly she wants to be filled, and says quietly, “Well you were right about that.”

* * *

Kissing Scott is an even headier experience than she had expected it to be. She’s drunk on him. She tells him as much breathlessly, after he lifts her to sit on the table in their room and moves between her legs, taking her face in his hands and kissing her again and again until she feels herself melting into a puddle of need for him, every bit of her existence boiled down to wetness and want. He doesn’t smile when he pulls back at her words as she thought he would, he just looks at her with dark eyes that say so much more than a smile ever could before pulling her into him again, his hands tangling roughly in her hair as he takes her mouth with as much vigor as she knows he will take her everywhere else.

* * *

Where Luke is wide, Scott is long. She had told him one night that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to take him, but he reminded her in a low voice that he would never hurt her. She wonders idly if she had been created to take him, and in turn, he created to take her. But then she remembers the way Luke fills her so perfectly and she dismisses the thought. 

He’s so deep inside of her, and she feels so full. She’s reaching for a special kind of completion that she didn’t know that she needed and it becomes clear to her - Luke was right. They needed to do this. The two of them had spent their entire lives entwined, emotionally and physically, this was just the final step. 

It was the only way that Scott didn’t know her.

* * *

And then it’s over. 

It’s been hours of him inside her, above her, behind her, and she feels utterly, thoroughly had. 

It’s only minutes before they have to check out, and he has her on the table again only this time it’s soft kisses, nothing like the deep ones of just an hour before, little touches of their lips again and again. His lips are plump and wholly kissable, the way they can only be after you’ve spent the entire night using them. 

There’s a part of her that is fighting against the ticking of the clock, trying desperately to hold onto the seconds as they slip away with every brush of his lips against hers. 

But there’s another part too. This one is louder and unambiguous. It’s counting down to that final kiss with all of the confidence that closure can bring. 

Scott’s Tessa is fighting it, but Tessa, just Tessa, is ready for it to be over.

* * *

She’s standing in front of their apartment door and she doesn’t think she’s ever noticed how many grains of wood there are in it and she’s suddenly very certain that she needs to count exactly how many there are. For science. 

Or maybe it’s because she can’t bear the thought of how Luke is going to look at her when she opens it. Will he be able to see it all? Every spot that she let Scott touch her, all the ways that she let him have her? Her hair is still wet - will he be able to see exactly how Scott took her against the wall, their skin sliding against each other deliciously, the heat of the water almost as hot as his breath on her skin as he watched her come apart around him?

Scott had left no marks, but that didn’t mean Luke wouldn’t be able to see them. 

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, letting her mind focus on the way that Luke had held her before she left, the way he touched her with such care and tenderness, the way he whispered into her hair, insisting that he would still hold her that way the next day. 

She remembers - she trusts him. She has to. Decisively, she opens the door and steps inside. 

He looks up from where he’s reading on the couch and gives a soft smile. “Hey, pretty girl.”   
  
The knot in her stomach eases slightly. “Hey.”

He swallows hard, giving away his anxiety which, strangely, lessens hers somewhat. Tentatively, she steps toward him, looking for an indication that he wants her near him, and he stares at her blankly for a moment before raising his arm from the back of the couch and saying, “C’mere.” 

Immediately, she drops her bag to the floor and takes four quick steps to collapse next to him on the couch, curling into his side. His arms wrap around her and he holds her to him tightly. Silently. He feels solid against her and she feels the part of herself that doesn’t belong to Scott catch fire within her like a match being lit. As it does, the other part, the one that is tinged with the passion and pain of more than twenty years together flickers ever so slightly, and, finally, fades. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this one for a long time. It's weirdly personal and I'm not quite sure why. I had a lot of trouble with the ending (and I have to give major thanks to @resistate for talking me through that). I did have an alternate ending to this one and I went back and forth on it until the very last minute, but if it matters to anyone, you should know that there's an alternate universe where Tessa is able to have them both.


End file.
